


Misleading

by yeaka



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Ficlet, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-03
Updated: 2019-05-03
Packaged: 2020-02-16 10:35:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18689764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Elrond protected a guest; Lindir’s unfairly jealous.





	Misleading

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Fill for ms_thunder_frost’s “Elrond/Lindir, set in the middle of An Unexpected Journey? Lindir is jealous, but finds himself unwilling/unable to admit this to his lord because he feels that he has no rights to him. Elrond, who'd seen Lindir act strangely throughout dinner and is more than certain that he knows the cause, seeks to reassure him of his feelings. For the reason behind Lindir's jealousy, I was thinking that when Thorin's company arrives in Rivendale, a delegation of elves, sent by Thranduil, is making preparations to depart. Among them is Thranduil's young--of age, but young for an elf--daughter. As we know, Thorin has a hard time controlling his tongue where emotions are concerned and, just as Gandalf feared, ends up gravely insulting the young woman's honor. Elrond, whose in no mood to witness the girl's guards behead Thorin, or go to war with Thranduil for standing by and doing nothing, pretends the young woman is his bride and recinds any offer of his assistance should Thorin not learn to hold his tongue. This is just a suggestion, and if you decide to include it, by no means has to be a major part of the story. The girl could just be casually referenced, or could come by that evening to thank Elrond for what he did, or Elrond could even try to quell Lindir's fears by revealing that she'd taken a shine to one of his sons” request on [my dreamwidth](https://yeaka.dreamwidth.org/1190.html?thread=7590#cmt7590). (I got permission to tweak it.)
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own The Hobbit, The Lord of the Rings, The Silmarillion, or any of their contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

“Breakfast will be served in the east courtyard in the morning, but if you wish to eat here, you need only let myself or any other servant know, and we will be happy to have it brought to you. We would also be happy to draw your bathwater then and provide anything else that you might wish for.” Lindir pauses in his circling of the room, hovering near the open door. The sprawling quarters are immaculate for this presentation—he oversaw their cleaning and dressing himself. Taking care of guests is of the utmost importance to Lord Elrond, and thus, it’s absolutely vital to Lindir.

Their newest guest drifts around the large bed, her pretty eyes still tracing every bit of carved crowned molding. Without stopping to look at him, she answers, “Thank you. This is lovely.”

Lindir inclines his head downwards in a slight bow. Nellas isn’t nobility, exactly, but despite her youthful features, she is an elf many centuries his senior, and he shows her the respect due that. When he’d first heard of her arrival, he’d feared their accommodations couldn’t possibly be enough for an elf of the old ages—someone used to a time of unlimited, immortal splendor. Now he has far different concerns. It seems he needn’t have been worried in the first place, because Nellas looks nothing but pleased with the arrangements. 

When she finishes pacing about the room, smiling approvingly over every little detail, she comes to stand before him. Clasping her hands against her skirt, she dips into a half-bow, which automatically springs a blush onto Lindir’s cheeks. She’s quite beautiful, artful, and appears around his age, even if that’s far from the truth. None of that sways him—it’s simply odd to have someone bowing to _him_ when he’s only a simple servant.

She tells him plainly, “I am very pleased with all that I have seen. The hospitality of Imladris has not been exaggerated. Please, extend my compliments also to those in the kitchens, and those who organized our dinner. It was a most delightful experience.”

Lindir’s body tenses. He tightly agrees, “I shall, my lady.” And then he can’t help but add, “I apologize again for our... _other_... guests.”

Nellas’ voice is soft and lilting when she laughs—she could be a minstrel if she wished, and probably a better one than Lindir. She shakes her head and tells him, “Do not worry. They did not spoil my mood, for Lord Elrond was so valiant in his rescue of me. I was quite impressed with how diplomatically he quelled the dwarves’ temper. I think he may have over-embellished in his praise of me, but it seems that by taking me to his side, his message was well delivered. I must say, I also did enjoy the new seating once I was physically placed next to him. It gave me the opportunity to enjoy someone so clever and well-spoken.”

Lindir nods, saying nothing. He agrees, of course, with every compliment given his lord. He’s still impressed that Elrond somehow managed to divert the dwarf’s temper, simply by insinuating Nellas’ importance to him. Apparently, the dwarves were not willing to directly insult Lord Elrond, albeit clearly at Mithrandir’s behest. Still, it was irksome to see his arm go around her when he guided her to his head table. 

With a little sigh and her gaze lost somewhere over Lindir’s shoulder, Nellas continues, “It was terribly kind of him to extend me such honours. And, naturally... well, he is certainly a very handsome specimen.”

Lindir couldn’t agree more, but it makes his jaw clench to hear her say it. He isn’t used to the competition—while Elrond is well known for his intelligence and skill, not as many extend their praise to his looks. Nellas hums wistfully, obviously still enamoured with the object of all of Lindir’s affection. 

As politely as he can, he moves back, turning half towards the door and giving her a proper bow. “I must bid you good night now, my lady. May you dream well in our home.” 

“I will,” she answers, inclining her head as he sees himself out. He shuts the door quietly, and when he’s left in the dark hallway outside, he takes a moment just to lean against it. A heavy breath rips out of him. He stills his hands against his side, closing his eyes and retreating inwards to fight the battle against himself.

He’s quite aware that he’s being ridiculous. He has no right to be jealous over a man he has no claim to, nor should he have any claim to. Elrond is his _lord_ , and whatever they might share can’t bridge that gap. In some ways, an elf like Nellas would be a much better fit for Elrond. Even if she’s only passing through on her way to the western shores, she could be tempted to stay, if Elrond were to again get as close to her as he did over dinner. They would surely have a plethora of great things to speak of, and they could share an understanding of a world Lindir’s never known, and perhaps they might even sail together. But Lindir can’t bear that thought. 

He opens his eyes and pushes away from the door. It’s grown dark outside, and he could excuse himself for the night—he’s done his duties for the day, and surely Erestor wouldn’t begrudge him his rest. He moves towards the staircase at the end of the hall, meaning to make his retreat.

Elrond comes down them, and Lindir freezes. Surprise initially hits him—Elrond doesn’t often wander the halls at night without official business. But then Lindir remembers their guest and understands. He should have known that Elrond would want to see her again. Trying hard to restrain his frown, Lindir reports, “My lord. The Lady Nellas has yet to retire, as far as I am aware. She will be glad to see you.”

Elrond halts, the two of them meeting in the middle of the twisting staircase. He lifts one dark brow and asks, “Will she, now? That is unfortunate; I did not mean to make her unhappy by neglecting to visit her.”

Lindir tilts his head, confused, because clearly Elrond was about to do so. Elrond corrects for him, “It is actually you I came to look for, my Lindir. I had thought you might still be attending to our guests.” Lindir’s cheeks heat again, worse when Elrond finishes, “You seemed withdrawn during dinner. I wished to speak with you for it.”

Lindir knows he’s being foolish. As he has no intention of advertising that, he winds up opening and closing his mouth several times before he manages a weak excuse: “I am sorry, my lord. I am afraid I am just finding our Dwarven guests to be somewhat of a handful...”

Elrond visibly frowns. It gives Lindir the distinct impression that Elrond’s looking right through him, but he doesn’t correct himself. Then Elrond turns back the way he came and nods, indicating: “Please, walk with me.”

Lindir instantly obeys, falling into step as Elrond ascends the twisted walkway. As he moves, he murmurs, “It is unbecoming, my Lindir, to blame others for sins they did not commit.”

Shame fills Lindir, mingling with his guilt and jealousy. He hangs his head as he talks. “I apologize, my lord.” He can’t bring himself to admit that he’s lied, but Elrond’s as good as said it. It’s true; the dwarves aren’t the reason for Lindir’s angst. Lindir doesn’t say anything else, though Elrond pauses for a long moment, as though waiting for more.

When it becomes clear that Lindir’s lips are sealed, Elrond says, “I do hope my treatment of our other guest has not upset you. My only intentions were to impress upon Thorin how poorly I would take her mistreatment, but in retrospect, my actions were unwarranted.”

“No,” Lindir cuts in, and again, it’s something of a lie, because it _did_ upset him. He swallows that back and insists, “I am proud to have such a compassionate, protective lord...”

Elrond sighs, “Thank you, Lindir. But I could have been more tactful. I should have made it clear to her, and to you, that my affection lies elsewhere.”

He stops walking, and Lindir follows suit, only to realize where they’ve gone. He’d been so lost in his own feelings that he’d failed to notice their route, and now they stand before Elrond’s personal chambers. Elrond turns to face him and asks, “Please. Will you come in?”

Lindir’s cheeks are burning. He wants to, of course, _always_ wants to—he’d live in Elrond’s bed if he could. But he meekly promises, “There is no need, my lord. I understand my mistake. I will work on that. My ill feelings are indefensible, and I am not owed your public interest.”

Elrond’s hand reaches to clasp Lindir’s, gently entwining around it, thumb softly brushing over his palm. Lindir’s breath hitches. Elrond leans in to brush a chaste kiss over Lindir’s lips, enough to make Lindir croon and press forward. Elrond pulls back anyway. “You shall have it nonetheless. I did not ask you inside to chastise you further, my Lindir, but to show you that you are the one I wish to spend my nights with. I must endeavor to make you more secure in our relationship, so that you know you _do_ have my love, no matter the circumstance.”

Lindir blinks. The raging hurt inside him numbs, and a calm, wonderful warmth ebbs in instead. He looks at Elrond and he feels _whole_ , more fulfilled and satisfied than he has any right to be. He can’t manage any coherent response, so he only steps in to press his face against Elrond’s shoulder, and Elrond engulfs him in a comfortable embrace.

He joins his lover in Elrond’s quarters, and his fears dissipate into the ether.


End file.
